He lunges.
I move just in time as claws slice through the air where my throat had been a breath before. I stumble back, unsheathing my blade, my body screaming in protest from exhaustion, wounds, and too little sleep. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
Lioran and Asbel are frozen behind me, still alive but trapped, the blood magic like invisible chains holding their bodies still. I have no help. No backup. It doesn’t matter. The mawless will not get in my way. This time, I don’t just fight to survive. I fight with purpose.
The first strike I throw isn’t clean, but it’s fast, fueled by instinct and fury.
He laughs and dances away, mockingly graceful. “You’re slower than last time,” he taunts. “Are you tired, goddess-blessed?”
I grit my teeth and keep going. I attack again, harder this time, faster. With less finesse, but more rage. My blade grazes his side, and black smoke hisses where it cuts.
The mawless grins even wider. “Ohhh, someone’s angry."
Iamangry.
I haven’t allowed myself to fully feel it before. Not when Aren died. Not when my own magic turned against me. Not when I saw Serenya broken and covered in blisters. Not when I stood there, helpless, and let someone else carry her away.
But now? Now it’s boiling inside of me.
Ragethat I didn’t protect her.
Ragethat I lost control of my power.
Ragethat I nearlykilledher.
Most of all, rage that the thing responsible for all of it stands between me and the one person I need to see more than anything. If he didn’t kill Aren, if he didn’t come formethat first day, she wouldn’t have come. She would have stayed in the safety of her palace.
The mawless comes at me again. I dodge two strikes, parry a third, but the fourth catches my shoulder. Pain flares down my arm, and my vision swims.
I drive my blade upward, fast and brutal, and though the creature twists away, he isn’t fast enough. The sword slicesacross his ribs, leaving a smoking gash that doesn’t bleed. He roars, stumbling back.
“You don’t get to win,” I growl. “Not this time.”
He snarls, black eyes flashing. “You’re alone. She can't save you this time.”
My eyes blaze. “I don’t need anyone’s help to end you.”
We slam into trees, crack stone beneath our feet; our magic burns the ground as steel and shadow clash in a deadly rhythm. The mawless is strong, but I’m different now.
I’m not just a man with a sword. I am somethingmore. This time, I won’t stop until he is ash at my feet.
My fist clenches, knuckles bloodied from the earlier wraith fights, but my grip on my blade is firm.
The mawless tilts his head, a too-human grin stretching his face. “I love your anger,” he says, voice thick with delight. “It makes this game so much more fun.”
I launch forward, blade slashing in a wide arc. He dodges with unnatural ease. His fingers slice through the air and claw at my side, tearing through leather and grazing skin. I suck in a breath, but don’t slow.
I pivot, spin, and slash again. This time, my blade grazes his shoulder, and a hiss of pain escapes his lips.
“Ah,” he croons, black ichor dripping down his arm. “There he is. There’s the fire.”
My magic flares, hot, raw, and uncontrolled. I feel it burn, lighting my skin, answering my fury. My sword drips with that magic. His grin falters for half a second.
“You’re not supposed to shine like—”
I don’t let him finish. I attack again, movements lessrefined now, driven by instinct. I’m not just fighting for my life anymore. I am fighting for hers. For Serenya, for the way her body collapsed after the burnout almost took me, for the haunted look in her eyes when she reached for me.
The mawlessretaliates. Shadows burst around us and lash at my arms and legs. I duck and roll, dodging the worst of it, but some wraps around my ankle, jerking me off my feet and slamming me into the ground. My breath leaves my lungs in a gasp, pain exploding through my spine. The world blurs—nausea hits like a wave.
